noir-v3nt

[noir-v3nt]

I tried to call the suicide helpline, for some reason, the process itself, even before the operator pick up, triggered my panic attack. Why's that?

I'm not brave enough to end my suffering yet I'm not strong enough to reach out for help.

[noir-v3nt]

How can you want a lifetime with me when I don't even see myself living for another month.

[noir-v3nt]

Mentally healthy people won't stare at the knife, thinking if they should just end themselves, they won't poke into their ribcages in fear of gaining weight, they won't dig their nails into the old wounds hoping to reopen it...

And yet, there's nothing I can do about it but repeat the cycle over and over and over again. I get better; it scares my mind and so it pushes me back down the cliff. I'm tired.

[noir-v3nt]

You say you did your best. That you didn’t know any better. That you’ve changed. But I was just a kid. Your mistakes weren’t just mistakes—they were my whole world.

And now you want forgiveness like it’s easy, like time could just erase everything you did, and everything you didn't do. But I won’t rewrite the past to make you feel better.

You hurt me. That’s the part that doesn’t change.

[noir-v3nt]

I've learned young how to be easy. How to laugh at the right moments, how to mold myself into the kind of person people wanted to keep around. If you were happy, people liked you. If you were easy, they stayed.

I wonder if anyone had ever really seen me at all.

[noir-v3nt]

I've lost my long term online pal.. Please.. I'm so sad..

[noir-v3nt]

It's not going to get better, isn't it? Why I keep lying to myself..?

[noir-v3nt]

In my mind, I've died, I'm just a wandering spirit. I'm slowly becoming transparent, my body is rotting somewhere - this is all just a dream.

And I'll be the happiest I'll ever been.

[noir-v3nt]

I can’t help it. I want to do my best—I hate being like this. I claw at the edges of life, forcing myself to love it, but it just makes everything worse..

[noir-v3nt]

I need to cry to feel better—I must, but I can't.

The tears won't come, and neither will relief.

They're stuck, just like this weight pressing down on me.

So I take the metal to my skin again. It’s the only way to drain what’s rotting inside me..

[noir-v3nt]

Hey. Are you okay?

Hey.

I wouldn't say I'm okay - I've been better. Even on the good days, I'm still struggling to exist. But I want to believe that things would be alright, even if it has been years, even if it has worn me out - even if I feel like I'm spiralling down the abyss.

Do you feel the same? That tiny spark of hope; it kills you, yet it's the only thing that sometimes makes you force yourself to push through - it's devastating.

It's enough to save you but not enough to make you feel alive.

[noir-v3nt]

This is not who I am,

but I don't even remember who I should be in the first place.

[noir-v3nt]

In the most positive way, I think I've lived for too long—seen too much, felt too deeply, and now, everything feels unbearably heavy, like I was never meant to last this long and carry all of this.

[noir-v3nt]

There's something morbidly wrong with me - there's something inside me that's so rotten, I worry the scent will latch on anyone that comes too close.

[noir-v3nt]

It's unfair that people expect mentally ill person with devastating upbringing to act and function in society the same as the stable person with decent supports in their life. I know it can't be helped, I know it's unavoidable, I know it can't be distinguished - still, it's unfair.

[noir-v3nt]

Why should I burden someone else with my thoughts? Why can't I suffer alone? Why must I make it known? It's honestly pathetic. Despite I know they don't even read / listen to all my text messages and voice notes - despite all that, I still find comfort in thinking that someone listens to me.

[noir-v3nt]

If I talk about it, I'll cry. So I stay silent.